I never thought my 34th birthday would turn into the worst night of my life.
I wasn’t planning a big party. Just something simple — cozy, intimate, full of laughter and good food. I spent the entire day preparing: marinated chicken, baked my mom’s favorite chocolate cake recipe, polished the wine glasses, and set the table for eight. Only the people who mattered most — my tight circle of friends who had been with me through breakups, job losses, and late-night talks that went until sunrise.
We had all agreed on 6 PM. By 5:30, everything was ready. Music was playing softly. Candles were flickering. I even ironed my shirt, just for the occasion.
At 6:05, I was still smiling, sipping wine and watching the street through the window. “They’re just running late,” I told myself.
By 6:40, the smile started to fade. I checked my phone — no messages. No missed calls. I texted in the group chat:
“Hey guys, everything okay? Just checking in.”
Nothing.
One by one, I tried calling them. No one picked up.
By 7:15, I was pacing the living room. Every footstep echoed off the silence. The food was going cold. My wineglass was almost empty. I told myself not to panic. Maybe they got the time wrong. Maybe something came up.
At 8:00, I finally gave up and sat alone at the table, staring at the untouched dishes, feeling more humiliated than hurt. The candles had burned low. The music sounded like a cruel joke.
Then, at 10:03 PM, I got a message from my friend’s sister:
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the news… I didn’t know how to tell you. There was an accident. They were on their way to your place.”
My blood ran cold. I opened the news app. The top headline read:
“Fatal Crash on Highway Leaves Three Dead After Car Collides with Truck.”
The names were not listed yet. But the car model, the time, the location — I knew.
It was them. My friends. The ones I had just spent the last four hours silently resenting for “forgetting” my birthday.
I dropped my phone.
That night, I didn’t cry. I just sat at the table in the dark, watching the wax drip down the candles and listening to the ticking of the kitchen clock. The wine stayed full. The food untouched.
The last dinner we were supposed to share… was waiting for people who would never arrive.
